


The Gift of the Raven

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair goes back in time and meets Jim's ancestor, who's also a sentinel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of the Raven

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Elizabeth Grace, Heidi Dillehunt, and Debbie Ramsey for beta-reading the story and finding confusing bits before I inflicted them on you folks. Thank you especially, Debbie, for reading it in bits and pieces -- and for sending me the Pros disk library while I was writing this story -- 23 disks full of slash (quelle distraction)! Comments and critical thoughts are welcome -- this piece blew up creatively in my hands, and I'm hoping that I put everything back in the right place. 

## The Gift of the Raven

by Yolanda

* * *

"Cultural hero, trickster, transformer and the most important of all creatures, Raven was capable of doing both helpful and harmful deeds, teaching humans important skills as well as causing them trouble by performing mischievous antics. He is a paradox, an embodiment of the creative tensions that exist between two opposites." - <http://www.cmcc.muse.digital.ca/cmc/cmceng/gh01eng.html> (Canadian Museum of Civilization -- and there's a picture of a transformation mask at this web site, too) 

* * *

_Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,  
And think of you_

Jim brought me home from the hospital on Tuesday. There wasn't much wrong with me, they said. A little malnutrition, some exhaustion. "Get some food," they told me, "lots of vitamins, and plenty of rest." 

I thought the doctors should have given Jim the same prescription. He was as gaunt and as tired as I was. I couldn't remember when the shadows had been so dark under his eyes. 

He spent that day with me, the second day since my return. He left me on the couch and brought a blanket over. He'd been touching me a lot, as if to make up for our month apart. I think I interrupted his grieving process, coming back as I had disappeared. Suddenly. Magically. 

Before, I could tell when he was angry, when he was pleased, just from the colour of his eyes. But now, after so long apart, I feared that ability was gone. I hoped that our closeness would return. I had come back for him, for the friendship we once had, for the deeper relationship I had hoped we were building. 

We went to bed early that night, and I'm not sure what woke me. It wasn't the light; he didn't need to turn it on to be able to see me. It wasn't sound; Jim can be as silent as -- well, as a panther -- when he wants to be. All I knew was that he was standing in my room when I awoke. 

He knows when my heart beats faster, when my breathing changes. He knew I was awake. He didn't move. 

"Jim?" My voice came out as a hoarse croak. When he didn't answer, I was concerned. I crawled out of my bed, stumbled to his side. His arm was cool when I touched it but I could feel his lifesblood pulsing under my fingers. 

"Jim." I reached out to put my hand on his chest, just over his heart. The beat of life was stronger here. He stirred a little at my touch, then stilled again. 

"Jim, it's me. Your partner. Come back to me. Listen to my voice. Follow me back." I should have been worried, but I wasn't. Our link was back. We had a connection that I couldn't define and somehow, I knew he was all right. I called his name again. "Jim, come home to me." 

He moved then, a mountain coming to life, making a slow transition to consciousness. I could see the thoughts crossing his face. Fear, alertness, realization, doubt. The last one sent a knife through my heart. 

"Hey man, it's ok. You're in my room. I'm home. I'm where I belong. With you." 

He almost broke then. I could see his jaw twitch, feel his heart skip a beat. He turned away from me. 

"Wait, talk to me. What's wrong? Why are you in my room?" I was using the wrong words. I shouldn't have said anything at all. Words can be bent, twisted. Touch, taste, the senses -- those can't be misinterpreted as easily. 

He paused and I stepped in front of him. I looked up into his shadowed face. My hands took his, loose at his side. I guided one hand to my heart. "This is yours, Jim." Those words felt right. 

He moved swiftly then, catching me up, holding me tight. I couldn't get close enough to him or seemingly, him to me. I could hear his heartbeat through his chest, a throbbing pulse that signaled life. 

When he spoke, his voice was muffled by my hair. I could feel his voice resonating through his chest, rumbling against the side of my head. "You aren't dead. You're here. I came in to make sure you were still with me." 

I led him to my bed and settled him down on it. Then I curled around him, impressing my weight on him. We fell asleep that way, entangled in each other's presence. No more words were necessary, merely the certainty of contact. 

We woke twice before we rose. Our first awakening was slow. His arm was asleep where I'd rested on in, and we drowsily adjusted our positions to free the trapped limb. I wrapped myself around his body again, and he slowly closed his arms around me. My head rested on his chest, and his heart beat in my ear. 

Our second awakening was equally unhurried. I opened my eyes to find him watching me. There was an expression of wonder in his eyes and a half-smile about his mouth. When he realized I was awake, he passed one hand over my forehead and then sunk his fingers into my sleep-tangled hair. 

I closed my eyes to better feel his touch, more sensuous than any we had dared before, more intimate than with any lover I'd ever known. I knew before that this man held my heart. I learned now that he held half my soul as well. 

Our first kiss was as inevitable as a sunrise. When he leaned forward and touched his lips to mine, I could feel his hand tangled in my hair, cradling my head. I couldn't remember why we had waited so long for this. What had seemed like such a monumental step before had become as natural as heat from the sun. I passed my hand along Jim's shoulder, touched my tongue to his lips, ran my teeth along his ears, his neck. 

His hands touched me everywhere. Fingers stroked my lips, caressed my ears, ran across my neck. I shivered when they reached my nipples, and he spent a few more moments experimenting with my reactions to that touch. 

We made love slowly that morning. I touched him until his skin seemed more familiar than my own, until I knew how he would respond to almost anything I could do. When he claimed me, it was a joyous reunion, and not the painful experience I had expected. We moved together as one body, one soul. We needed nothing but each other; we wanted for nothing but the other's pleasure. 

All the pain and anguish that we'd suffered over the last month now seemed as necessary as a sunset. Without our time apart, we might never have come together, might never have found it in ourselves to express how much we meant to one another. Might never have found the sun in each other's eyes ... 

_Caught up in circles confusion--  
Is nothing new_

(four weeks earlier) 

"What's this?" I picked up the complicated-looking chart that Jim had left on the table. 

"Stephen's been looking into our family tree. He dropped the chart off last night." Jim passed an arm over my shoulder to point out one line. "Here's where we are." He took a swallow of his coffee. 

"Lotsa original thinkers in your family -- look at all these Jameses and Stephens and Edwards. Didn't you guys ever name anyone differently?" I grinned over my shoulder at my partner. 

"Why mess with success? When you've got something that works, you don't change it." He pointed at one of the names. "There's the first Ellison to come west. James Michael Ellison. He was one of the original settlers in this area." 

I counted the generations. "He's your great-great-grandfather. Your family's been around this state for a long time, man." 

"Mm-hm," he agreed. "Stephen's getting excited about what he's finding out." He sat down beside me. 

I leaned back and studied my partner. He was more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. We hadn't worked on any horrific cases lately, and we'd even managed to catch a Jags game this week. That must have been the reason for his cheerfulness. 

I looked at the time. "I've gotta go, Jim. My ride will be here in a few minutes." Dr. Brown, one of my favourite professors, had invited me to visit a dig just north of Vancouver, Washington. A few buildings had been recently discovered by a logging company, and he thought that it would be an interesting field trip for both of us. 

I stood up and ruffled his short hair. "See you tonight, big guy." 

"Do that again and you'll lose your hand." His grin negated his threat. "Have a good time, and try not to get into trouble." 

* * *

The drive south to Vancouver was pleasant; we chatted about departmental politics and complained about shared undergraduate students. I was looking forward to seeing what had been uncovered so far. I didn't know much about West Coast native traditions, but what I could recall had intrigued me greatly. Animals played a large part of their belief systems. Every family had their totem animal, and the trickster god, seen in almost every human culture, was Raven. These buildings were also noteworthy, Dr. Brown said, because it was the furthest south that they'd ever found evidence of the Salish tribe. 

We pulled up into the rough dirt lot that had been roughed out of the forest. The buildings were unprepossessing. Moss covered much of the rotting wood, and the remnants of last night's rainfall dripped from the trees above us. The structures were barely distinguishable from the trees around them, huddled into the forest like they were trying to return to their origins. 

We met the researcher in charge of the dig inside the main longhouse. He gave us a quick tour, and then said that we could wander around as we chose. Dr. Welder stayed to investigate a large ceremonial box. I decided to start at the other end of the buildings and work my way in. I'd seen something that looked like a temple -- and I hadn't thought that the natives had built such a thing. 

It was one of the smaller buildings, hiding much further back in the forest. I looked in and saw a large box, decorated with carvings and paint. I wished for Jim's senses, so that I'd be able to examine the carvings more closely. No matter. I had my flashlight. The box opened easily, and I could see a mask inside. I picked up the mask and brought it outside the building to see it under better light. There were moving parts, and when I unfolded it, I could recognize the traditional raven symbols. I felt compelled to put it over my face. 

I've never been able to really describe what happened next. I heard a scream -- animal or human, I couldn't tell -- and I choked on the smell and taste of burning feathers. I didn't see anything but rushing blackness, and the next thing I felt was a thump as my body hit the ground and the wind was knocked out of me. 

* * *

_Flashback--warm nights--  
Almost left behind_

I felt like I'd been dropped from some height. There was a rock under my arm, and what felt like the beginnings of a large bruise on my leg. 

//Jim's never going to let me out of the house without him again.// Thinking of my partner made me feel warm for a moment. 

//Ok, what would he do now?// I staggered to my feet and held onto a helpful tree for support. First of all, what could I see? Lots of tree trunks and underbrush. Plenty more moss and damp ground. No trails, no village. No people. 

//Wow. Someone must have hit me over the head and carried me away from the dig. Where are they? Which way do I go?// 

There was no obvious direction, so I decided to follow the sun, guessing that, since it was afternoon, it should lead me west. There was no trail, and I stumbled over dead trees, hidden rocks, and slopped through not a few mudholes. I walked for about an hour and when I looked back, I could see no difference between the forest behind me and that ahead. Even my footprints were being swallowed, as the mud oozed toward a liquid stability. 

I almost gave up then, but thought of Jim. //If I keep going, he'll find me.// The thought became a chant as I slogged on through the underbrush. My feet were getting wet through my old hiking boots. Jim had offered to buy me a new pair, but I had declined. He'd already given me a new shirt that I'd liked, and replaced the glasses that he'd broken. I shivered. It was getting colder as the sun fell in the sky. 

//Guess I'm spending the night out here.// I was thinking about hypothermia, trying to remember how to spend a night outdoors. I'd never been a boy scout -- we'd moved around too much for that. And most of my expeditions had been in warm countries, places where we emptied our shoes of large poisonous insects, and worried more about exposure to the sun than the cold and damp. 

When the light turned golden, I realized that I'd better find a place to spend the night. I still had my flashlight, but I didn't want to use up the batteries. A fire was right out. People from the rest of the country complained that breathing westcoast air felt like breathing water. The damp was a part of everything. Even if I could figure out the right way to rub two sticks together, I'd first have to squeeze the water out of them. I'd be more likely to boil them with friction than to start a fire. 

//Hey Blair, pull it together.// I thought I should deal with the exposure first. At the top of the next rise was a lightning-shattered stump. There were some fallen branches about, and I dragged them to the stump. I sat down and pulled the wet branches over me. They were skimpy protection, but they were better than nothing. 

I was miserable. There was sticky tree sap on my face where I'd brushed my hair out of my eyes, and loose bits of brush trapped in my hair. //Jim will find me.// That thought was starting to lose its meaning. //At least I'm too cold to be hungry.// 

I was too uncomfortable to sleep, but I think I managed to drift off for a few minutes at a time. In between, I tried to figure out what to do in the morning. And I thought of Jim. 

_Suitcases of memories,  
Time after--_

He called me his partner at work, but lately, I'd been wishing for more. He'd been kind to me at the beginning of our friendship, taking me into his home, letting me outstay my welcome. We'd been getting closer in the last few months. I'd turn in the kitchen and he'd be at my shoulder. He'd bring me coffee when I was marking papers. I treasured our moments together, and all our little intimacies, even if they were all in my imagination. 

But then again, there was the neckrub he'd given me last week. I felt warm again for a few moments, recalling that evening. I had pulled a neck muscle. It was nothing major; I'd been carrying a heavy bag of books over one shoulder and had turned my head one way while the bag was swinging in the other direction. While it was a minor ache, it had been painful to move my head that day, and Jim had noticed. 

The liniment came out that night. Jim sat on the couch and made me sit on the floor in front of him. I tied my hair up and his sensitive fingers found the muscles in my neck, giving each one an equal amount of attention. I relaxed into his touch until I couldn't hold my head up. He unbound my hair, shaking it out over my shoulders, and pulled me on the couch beside him. We talked for a few moments but I couldn't meet his eyes as I thanked him for the neckrub. I was aroused, and hoped that he hadn't noticed. He thought I was sleepy, and sent me off to bed. 

//You idiot. What if he was as afraid of rejection as you were?// My subconscious pulled out more memories of the evening. He'd run his fingers through my hair when he untied it, and there had been a strange expression on his face when he'd ordered me to bed. I'd looked back to say good night, and he'd been sitting on the couch, bent over with his head in his hands. I'd been afraid to go back to him. Scared of my feelings, unable to think of what to say, I'd gone to my bedroom. Alone. 

Did I want him? Yes, of course I did. Why had I changed my mind? Because here, in this miserable cold wet forest, worlds away from Jim, I could finally admit the truth to myself. //Jim, where are you? What's happened to me? I need you here with me.// I loved him, even if he didn't return the feeling, and I'd give anything to be able to tell him so. 

_Sometimes you picture me--  
I'm walking too far ahead_

Daylight came not soon enough for me. All my muscles ached from fighting my way through the forest the day before. The trees were dripping on me, and mist was rising up from the ground. I'd been so cold all night that I'd forgotten what being warm felt like. My hands were stiff as they pushed the wet branches away and I heard my bones creak when I stood up. //Man, I'm a wreck.// 

I tried to figure out which way I'd come, which way to go. It seemed harder to move through the forest, and every movement I made was awkward, uncoordinated. After an hour, maybe more, of walking, I imagined that I could hear water. Another while later, I saw a silver river, rushing furiously from its source. 

//People always build houses on rivers. If I follow this one downstream, I'll get somewhere and borrow a phone.// It was easier said than done. The riverbank rose and fell randomly, and there was no path beside it, as if no one had ever been here before. There was one area where the river widened and slowed and I was able to walk on a bit of a beach, but the rest of the way was difficult and treacherous. My third fall was worse than my first two. My foot met an unexpected patch of mud and I fell down a steep slope, hitting my head against a solid object. 

He was there when I came to. Bending over me, lightly slapping the side of my face. I grasped his arm and my voice was hoarse. "Jim! Oh man, am I glad to see you!" My mantra had come true. My partner had come to find me. 

"Who are you," he asked me. "How do you know my name?" 

Why was he faking that British accent? "Quit joshing me, man. Are you trying to get even with me for not coming home last night?" 

"No, I do not know who you are." 

I was confused. "Jim? What's up?" 

"Sir, my name is James. James Ellison. I'm afraid that you must have me confused with someone else, as I've never met you in my life." 

I was dazed, but the beginnings of a theory were beginning to take wing in my head. "What's your middle name?" 

"Michael. And you are ..." 

"Blair. Blair Sandburg." I took in his clothes, period pieces which belonged in a museum. Oh no. Lightning struck. How could this have happened? Somehow, I'd been sent back over a hundred years. This was Jim's great-great... I mentally stuttered to a stop. The realization shocked me, scared me. 

I must have passed out again, because my next memory was of James' cabin. It was a small hut, but cosy. I was on the bed, under some coarse white blankets decorated with wide green, red and gold stripes. 

James wasn't far away -- it would be impossible to get away from another person in this small cabin. He was in the kitchen area, pouring steaming water into two mugs. I realized that I must have been delirious before, to think that this was my partner. His hair was much longer, and his face was slightly different. But the Ellison body type had held true through the generations -- big chest, big hands. And, given my location in his home, big heart as well. 

He realized I was awake and brought the mugs over. I sat up and accepted mine. Tea leaves floated on the surface of the water. 

He sat on the edge of the bed. "It is not fancy, but it is hot, and should warm you up." 

I realized then that I was still a little cold, but not as bone-chilled as I had been. No wonder I'd been so clumsy; I must have been dangerously hypothermic. 

"Thanks for taking me in," I said. "But how did you find me?" 

"I heard you scream and fall. I was not sure of who you were, but there are few people in these parts, and it was only Christian to investigate and help." 

His British-accented syllables reminded me that he wasn't Jim, but his mannerisms made his thoughts transparent to me. His jaw twitched, and I knew that he was holding something back. "Is there something else? You shouldn't have been able to hear me, right? You were a long way away?" 

He looked startled, then angry. "How do you you guess at my madness? Who are you? How did you know my name?" 

"Whoa there, hold on, man." I had a flashback to my first meeting with Jim. I did _not_ want this man throwing me against the rough-hewn walls of his cabin. "Let me explain." 

//What do I tell him? Where do I start?// How much of the truth could he handle? "You're not going to believe me, I know. But let me finish, ok?" 

I took a deep breath. "I know a little bit about your family. I'm a researcher of something called sentinels, and it seems to be a genetic trait that runs in your family." 

He looked skeptical, so I rushed to continue. "Let me describe the signs \-- you can hear things that you shouldn't. You can see farther than anyone else. You can smell things that aren't there, and you're having strange reactions to some food and medicine. And sometimes you lose time -- you'll be looking at something, and when you move again, a couple of hours have gone by." 

"How do you know all this?" He was starting to believe me. 

"I've been studying another member of your family for a few years. We've gone through just about every one of these effects." 

"Which relative -- my brothers have never mentioned anything like that to me." He was lost in memory. "I thought I was going mad. I was hearing voices, family arguments. The noises of the city were the worst -- they were so loud that I had to leave." 

"No, it's a far more distant relative." I smiled sadly, remembering my friend. "You wouldn't know him. His name's Jim, and you look like each other -- I thought you were him, at first." 

I don't know what he saw in my face, but he turned away, saying, "You should get some rest. You can tell me the rest of your story later, over supper. I want to know how you came to be alone in the forest, without food, without shelter. You must also tell me more about these ... sentinels." He took my mug and wrapped the blankets around me. 

* * *

_You're calling to me, I can't hear  
What you've said--_

I fell asleep quickly. The sweet hot tea had warmed me up, and my body was demanding retribution for the abuse it had taken in the long day and sleepless night. I thought I was too tired for dreams, but I was wrong. 

I was back in the longhouse, and then walking through the small Native village. I realized that there was someone beside me and looked over to see Jim. He didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge my presence. He looked haunted, worried. 

We entered the small temple building, and he went straight to the box I'd found. He ran his hands across it, and smelled at where my fingers had briefly touched the lid. "You were here, Blair. But where are you now?" He looked worried, lost. There was nothing in the box when he opened it. 

I tried to say something but found that I couldn't. I reached out to touch his shoulder and he moved before I could make contact. He said, "I can still smell you, Chief. I can still feel your presence in this place." 

He stood in the doorway and closed his eyes, extending his other senses. I became worried as the moments turned to minutes. 

I knew that I loved him, needed him. I hadn't realized how much he had come to need me in return. Simon had taken me aside once and told me how Jim had changed in the last two years. Before I'd come into his life, my partner had been a lone wolf, friendly but distant. I'd seen that side of him briefly, but it hadn't appeared in a long time. He'd taken me into his life, into his space. He'd let me turn the loft into our home. He held me with an open hand and I stayed with him willingly, happily. 

I loved him but I had been afraid to take the next step. I had been wrong not to go back to him, that night he'd rubbed the pain out of my neck. I'd been secure in our relationship, clear in how we behaved with each other. Best friends, and nothing more. I had told myself that I shouldn't risk what we had. I realized now that I had been a coward. I had brought pain to this man; I could only hope that I could return to him, and bring him joy again. 

Jim looked pale and lost. He was a strong man, and it was hard for me to see this side of him. He was always happier doing something practical. Being lost in a mystery frustrated him, made him impatient and angry. Losing me must be killing him. 

"I'm here, man." I finally found my voice. 

He blinked and opened his eyes. "Blair? Where are you?" He glanced about the buildings, looked sharply into the forest. He strode quickly through the trees trying to find the source of my voice. 

I went after him, but he still couldn't hear or see me. When I caught up to him, he was standing still again, eyes closed, every other sense dialed up. He was white with the strain and my heart was breaking in sympathy. 

I stood beside him and let the words fall out. "Don't move or you'll lose me again. Just listen to me. I'm ok, I'm alive. But you're in a zone-out, man. And you gotta come out of it. When you come out, remember, I'm alive and I'll try to come back." I stretched up a little to brush his cheek with my lips. "Remember this, too -- I love you." 

_Then you say--go slow--_  
I fall behind--  
The second hand unwinds 

I felt smothered by rush of smoke and black wings and gasped, trying to catch my breath. I realized that I was wrestling with blankets, and when I opened my eyes, James was sitting by my side. 

"I will not ask if you slept well," he said drily. "Do you want to get up now?" 

"Uh, yeah." I was still bleary, and my vivid dream seemed more real to me than the man whose hand rested on my chest. He'd been preparing dinner, and the smell of food reminded me how long it had been since I'd eaten. 

James quizzed me throughout our meal on what Sentinels were, how to control the symptoms of what he considered a disease. I could see that his attitude would be a problem. He'd thought that this was his own private madness for so long that it had become a negative force in his life. It had driven him from human society, brought him to the wilderness. But he'd survived it all. Hadn't even considered any alternatives, just kept on going, doing what he had to in order to survive. 

I felt a pang of sympathy for this man. He didn't just look like Jim; he had the same strengths, too. I stopped myself before I went too far down that line of thought. It wouldn't do to feel too close to him. I had to concentrate on finding my way back home, finding my way back to Jim. 

We talked for a bit longer after we had finished eating, but the time came when I couldn't suppress my yawns any more. I helped him rinse and dry the dishes, and then we had a few moments of uncertainty. I realized then that there was only one bed. //Idiot. Why would he have two?// 

James took control of the situation, giving me a shove towards the large piece of furniture. "Go ahead. I don't think you'll stay on your feet much longer." 

"Wh-where are you going to sleep?" I looked around. He couldn't possibly have any extra bedding hidden in this tiny cabin. 

"I have some ideas. I have rested in worse places." He was looking as stoic as Jim sometimes got. Would get. //I'm going to have to stop comparing him to Jim.// 

"Idiot. I'm not going to turn you out of his your own bed. Look, we can share it -- or else _I'll_ sleep on the floor." Anything indoors was certainly going to be more comfortable than my sleeping place last night. 

"Bien. Very well," he acceded. "You may sleep on the floor." 

He laughed at the look on my face. "I merely tease you. I was unsure of whether you would be comfortable sharing the bed. I have certainly had the pleasure of entertaining worse bedmates." He shivered. "In one inn, I woke to find bedlice on my face." 

I grimaced in sympathy and answered, "I could tell you about some of the critters I had to turf out of my bedding when I was in South America. Some of those spiders were as big as my hand." 

The tension was broken, and we casually undressed for bed. I stripped down to a shirt and my boxers and crawled under the cool -- and thankfully dry -- blankets. I felt James climbing in after me. As I fell asleep, I sensed him leaning up on his elbows, looking over me. I had a feeling of warm safety as I curled deeper into the bed. 

_If you're lost you can look--and you will find me  
Time after time_

When I woke up the next morning, all my muscles ached but I was inexplicably happy. The sun was beaming through the windows and I was warm and dry. All was right with the world, and even the bits of mud flaking out of my hair couldn't bring me out of my cheerful mood. 

I should have been more worried about my situation, but it seemed somewhat familiar. I was lost somewhere, stuck with someone who might or might not shelter me for another night. It wasn't an unfamiliar situation for me, although the fact that I was also lost in time added a slightly different twist on the situation. The fact remained, however, that I was alive and maybe I'd be able to figure out a way to get back home to Jim. 

James was gone, and I took the chance to look around the cabin. There was a shelf of worn books -- obviously his treasures in the wilderness \-- above a makeshift desk. A neat pile of papers rested on its edge; letters from many different people. I paused to admire the penmanship of this era, and then realized that I was invading James' privacy. As I stepped away from the desk, I heard him entering the cabin. 

"How are you feeling this fine morning?" He also seemed to be in a cheerful mood. 

"Better than yesterday, that's for sure." I grinned back at him. "Where have you been?" 

"Checking my traps." He grimaced. "I hate the task, but there is no other way of making a living in this land." 

We had pancakes for breakfast, with maple syrup he had carried from his parents' farm in Upper Canada -- what I called Ontario. After breakfast, he asked if I wanted to wash my hair -- he'd noticed when I had irritatedly scratched at the mud in it. 

We went for a walk to the river which James called "nature's bathtub." Both of us were deliriously giddy, though I still don't know why. Perhaps it was the warmth of the day: one of those February days which foreshadow spring. It might have been the company: I was the first visitor he'd had in months, and he'd been forced to do without conversation for much too long. Or it might simply have been the euphoria of making a new friend: having conversations which go nowhere, exploring the commonalities of human experience and shared interests. 

I stripped to my shorts and jumped into the water, screaming as my body was pierced by the cold. But there was a warm flat boulder to crawl onto afterwards, and I could bask in the sun while the water evaporated from my skin. James lay down beside me, and we alternately drowsed and talked. He wasn't able to restrain his questions any longer. He wanted to know where I had come from, why I was alone and without supplies, why my clothes were so outlandish. My plaid boxer shorts particularly amused him -- obviously, the Scots in his background were well hidden in his family tree. 

For a few seconds, I thought about lying to him, and decided that the truth would be the only way this man might accept my story. "I don't know how I got here," I said," but I think I'm from your future. That relative of yours I know -- he's your descendant. He'll be born in just about a century from now. When I woke up yesterday, I was in 1998. The letter on your desk says that this year is 1848." 

He looked at me as if I was the madman. Then he sat up abruptly and looked into the forest. "There is someone out there." 

I looked at where he was staring, and one of the shadows disengaged itself from the tree and walked towards us. He was a Salish man, dressed in the buckskin of the westcoast tribe, with a woven cedarbark cape draped over his shoulders. His hands opened before him and it was obvious that he simply wanted to talk. 

"I am to look for you," he said to me. "You are gift of Raven." 

I stared at him blankly. I can't say that we had a conversation; it takes two participants for that, and I wasn't able to do my share. But he told me, in halting English, that his elders had sent him with a message. They had heard Raven's screams for the last few nights, and had painstakingly divined what was happening. They told me that I had a task to do, and that I would be trapped here until it was done. And they asked me to complete it soon, as Raven was disrupting their ceremonies, interrupting the flow of their days. 

When he left, my mouth must have been open because James gently closed it for me. "Monsieur, I did not believe your story at first, but it looks as if you do not lie. Shall we go back to the cabin then, and talk some more? You can tell me of the future." 

On the walk back to James' cabin, I worried over what it was I might have been sent to do. As I looked at the man striding in front of me, I had my epiphany -- here was a sentinel without a guide, one who was slowly going mad with loneliness. It all fell into place in one blinding flash. He needed me to train him, to be able to go back to society and tolerate human contact. And I needed him to survive, because if he didn't, then Jim would never have been born. //And I can't let that happen.// 

I spent the next few weeks with James. The days were full. He would check his traps in the morning, and then we would work through some of the tests and control strategies that I'd devised for Jim. It was the evenings which I grew to dread. Long and quiet, they were times of enforced intimacy when it was too dark and cold to wander far out of doors. We were trapped together in the cabin. We played at cards and chess, and some games whose rules I could recall. And we talked. I told him of my life with Jim, and he told me of his life so far. 

His parents had been good to him and his two brothers and sister. A noisy, boisterous child, he had always made friends easily and kept them long \-- the pile of correspondence I'd found was mute proof of the loyalty he inspired. His father was a Loyalist and his mother was a French maid's daughter. His grandparents had objected to the match but love had prevailed and the odd cultural mix that would become James had been born. His speech reflected his heritage. Primarily British-inflected, it was peppered with the occasional French exclamation. (Idly, I speculated that the "eh bien" of this time had perhaps transformed itself into the ubiquitous 20th century Canadianism "eh.") 

As I grew to know him, I realized that he wasn't Jim, but that he was equally in need of my friendship and companionship. And every time we talked, my heart would break a little, not from anything he did or said, but for all the ways he resembled my partner. Talking to him, being with him, made me remember lost intimacies, and added to my regrets. 

One moment of our time together still shines brightly in my memory. One night, James was haloed by the fire and when I looked at his silhouette, I could pretend he was Jim. He saw the longing on my face but was discreet enough to look away and ignore the dampness in my eyes. 

He spoke softly. "You love him very much, don't you, this Jim of yours? And it is the 'love that dares not speak its name'?" 

I answered with a nod, and he came over and put his arms around me. "I will not pretend to be someone else. All I can do is offer you my friendship, and learn as fast as I can. You are a good teacher, mon ami. And perhaps you will be able to go home to him soon." 

That moment defined our deepening friendship. I knew then that he loved me too, in his own way, and respected my feelings -- even those of attraction to another man -- an uncommon attitude in this era. 

* * *

_If you fall I will catch you--I'll be waiting  
Time after time_

We worked together on his abilities for three weeks before his supply of grain and flour ran out. I had been preparing most of our meals, so it took him a while to notice the dwindling food supplies. We planned an expedition to Fort Vancouver, which was about a two-day hike away. I helped him prepare the last of his skins -- a grisly job -- and we loaded them onto his mule to take in to trade for food. 

The fort was an offense to _my_ senses, and I could see him flinch at the random noises, squeaks and squeals. I watched him trade the furs in for more food, and we fell into step again, carrying our supplies to load up the mule. 

When we heard the woman scream, we both rushed to help. We'd seen a drunken lumberjack wobbling down the street just moments before and feared the worst. But when we got to her, we stood back and grinned at each other. She was more than holding her own, clubbing him with a man's staff until he collapsed into the dirt. 

She noticed us looking at her. "And do you two wish for more of the same?" 

James smiled at her. "No. I merely wish to assure you that there are gentlemen among the idiots." 

His honest face must have convinced her of his sincerity, because she visibly relaxed. "I'm Lucille. Lucille Soleil. I came in last week with my father, and you're the first man to behave politely in my presence." 

"James Ellison, a votre service, mademoiselle." He offered her his arm. And this is my friend, Blair Sandburg." 

I smiled blankly at her. My mind was racing elsewhere, trying to figure out why her name seemed so familiar. And then another flash of lightning struck -- she was the one whose name I'd seen on Jim's family tree. They would eventually marry, and Jim would be born. //Does this mean I can go home at last?// 

I grinned madly at her. "It truly is a joy and a pleasure to meet you, Miss Soleil." I offered to take her other arm. Shall we adjourn to a more pleasant location to talk? 

We spent a few hours with her, and James, obviously besotted, was able to ascertain where her father was planning his homestead. I was quiet, letting the thoughts spin around my head. //Is this it? Can I go home to Jim? I have to say goodbye to James. Will he survive without me?// 

I'm glad that I had a few more days with James. On our hike back to his cabin, I remembered a few more things to tell him about his abilities. When we got back, I gathered up my notes and gave them to him, telling him that I suspected our time together was almost over, and that it had been good to be his friend. 

"I will miss the pleasure of your company, Blair." He pulled me into his arms. "In another universe, perhaps we could have meant more to each other." 

Our parting was sorrowful but sweet. We had become close over the time we had spent together, and I would miss this friend more than almost any other I had ever made. But I couldn't resist having the last word. "Pursue Lucille, my friend. You are meant for each other." 

I left the cabin then, and walked into the woods. The moon was full, shining brightly in the sky, outlining a path I'd never seen before. There was no flying sensation this trip, and I almost missed the black-winged embrace. I walked along the moonlit path as if in a dream, and the light changed gradually from bright moonlight to a golden dawn which threw long shadows across the path. 

The buildings I'd left behind a month ago appeared in the distance and as I drew closer, a car pulled up into the parking lot. The researcher who'd given me the tour emerged and when he saw me, his jaw dropped. 

"Blair Sandburg?" 

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. 

"We were looking for you for days. Your partner ..." He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. "Let me call the police and let them know you're alive!" 

He drove me to the small hospital in Vancouver, Washington. The local police had advised him to take me there, and said that they'd call the Cascade police. 

That entire day remains dreamlike in my memory -- from the time I sleepwalked into the clearing to the moment I was deposited in a hospital bed. I stared at the cars rushing by and thought that I'd never been so glad to see so many beaten-up trucks. They all said that I was back in my own time, and they all reminded me of the person I wanted to see most in this world. 

My memory image sharpens when Jim blasted into my room. Wordlessly, he approached me and folded me in his arms. As tightly as he held me, I wanted to be closer, to become a part of him. We pulled apart when we had to breathe. His shadowed eyes were as moist as mine and he blinked as he turned away. 

After a moment, he said, "I knew you were alive. I couldn't find any trace of you but I hoped that you'd come back." 

I took hold of his hand. "I had to come back. I can't live without you." The simplest words hide the deepest feelings. I knew that I would wilt and wither without his presence in my life. 

The doctors wanted to keep me overnight for observation. They couldn't find anything wrong with me, apart from an obvious tiredness. They also told me that I needed to get some vitamins -- there hadn't been much fresh fruit around the cabin. 

They all wanted to know where I had been, what had happened to me, but I avoided their questions. That night, Jim slept on the chair in my room. He brought me home the next day... 

_After my picture fades and darkness has  
Turned to grey_

(a few days later) 

"This letter came for you yesterday." Jim handed over a piece of registered mail. 

"Hmm. Goldstein  & Dunworthy Solicitors. Wonder what they want?" I tore the letter out of the envelope. The words sunk slowly into my consciousness. They had a package for me, one which had been entrusted to them for more than a century. Did I really exist, and could I come to their offices to prove it? 

Jim saw the shocked look on my face and took the letter from my hands. After he read it, he also looked puzzled. I had been home for a few days but I still hadn't told him everything that had happened to me. I wasn't sure if he believed what I had told him -- I wasn't sure I entirely believed it myself -- it all seemed like some strange Dorothy-type fantasy brought on by a blow to my head. 

We went together to the lawyers' offices. When we had proven my identity to their satisfaction, they gave me an old wooden box. We took it home and put it on the dining table. 

The lid slid open easily, revealing a large bundle of papers. I recognized all the notes that I'd made on James' progress in controlling his senses. My flashlight was buried in the bottom. I'd given it to James, thinking he would find it useful while the batteries lasted. It had been the final proof he'd needed of my story, of my origin. New when I went back in time, it was now dusty and travel-worn. But it, too, had come home. 

There was an aged photograph, in which I recognized James and Lucille, much older than when I'd left them. They were sitting on an uncomfortable-looking antique loveseat, and their teenaged children were standing behind them. 

The first thing I took out, and the last thing I read, was an envelope with my name on it, in James' beautiful hand. I carefully took the letter out and read it. 

Dearest Blair, 

I hope that this letter finds you well and healthy. 

I wished to make contact with you one last time, to thank you again for what you did for me, and to wish you well in your life. 

Not only did you save my life, but you also helped me to build a new one. Lucille and I married not long after we met, and I believe that your parting words gave me the courage to woo and win her. 

I hope you are home now, and that you have found the love of your life, as I found mine. 

All my affectionate regards, 

James 

My hands shook and Jim stood beside me, putting his arm around my shoulders. My voice emerged almost as a moan. "Oh man." I leaned into his supporting presence. "It really did happen, Jim. I really did get sent back in time. It was magic, and it happened to me." 

Then the other shoe fell. "And he's now dead." He had been my friend, and he'd been dead for over a hundred years. I mourned his loss at last. 

Jim held me, and picked up the photograph. "But look at this," he said. "While he lived, he was happy. You can see here that he loved his wife very much. See how they look at each other, and not at the camera, and how their hands are touching in her lap." 

He was right. I had the right to mourn for a friend, but not for the way he had lived. And now, I realized, I had closed the circle on that time in my life. 

_Watching through windows--you're wondering  
If I'm OK_

I turned to Jim that night, and wondered anew at how we had come together. It seemed miraculous to me that we should be in each other's arms. We had struggled so hard to get to this place of joy and comfort that it was hard to believe the struggle over, the battle won. 

Perhaps it's true that opposites attract. Certainly it would have been difficult to find another human being so different from me, or one whose presence could affect me so strongly. He felt me staring at him, and looked into my eyes. 

He spoke hesitantly but the words sounded rehearsed. "I need to tell you about what happened to me when you were gone." 

I kissed his forehead. "Anything you want to say. I'm here for you." 

"You don't know what it was like. When they told me you were missing, I broke every speed limit heading down to the village. I walked in your footsteps, and I found everything you'd touched." 

He was telling me about what I thought had been a dream. Wonderingly, I traced the outline of his face. 

"I knew you were alive. I could feel you, hear you. I even thought I felt you kiss me." 

I kissed his cheek in the same place as when I'd gone to him in the forest. He closed his eyes at the touch and continued to talk. 

"I spent two days at the village trying to find any traces of the people who might have kidnapped you. On the second night, I dreamed that you were asleep in someone else's arms." 

"No," I had to interrupt him before the remembered pain became reality. "We shared a bed, but nothing more. I was cold, shivering, and he put his arms around me to warm me up." 

"I thought it was just a dream ... was it true?" 

I nodded. "It was magic, Jim. It was a miracle." I felt a little awestruck to have been chosen for this gift. "And we were linked through it all. I don't know what that means, though. Are we meant for each other?" 

"I had another dream," he answered obliquely. "I was walking in the woods, beside a stream. I followed it to a pond where the water was so still that I could see the moon reflected sharply in the water. I looked down into the water and didn't see my reflection. I saw your face instead, looking up at me." 

I looked at him in wonder, and whispered, "You are my other half." I took his head in my hands and leaned my forehead against his. "When I was with James, I spent a lot of time with my regrets." I kissed him. "No more regrets. That's my promise to you. No more holding back." 

He kissed me back. "I should have done this sooner, but I was afraid to lose you." He ran his fingers through my hair. "I love the feel of your hair in my hands, the taste of your skin on my tongue, the sound of your voice in my ears." Strands of my hair caught his fingers. "I never want to be without you again." 

* * *

_Secrets stolen from deep inside  
The drum beats out of time--_

Is it a cliche to say that his words started a fire in my chest? Probably, but it was true. While our first lovemaking had been slow and inevitable, this one was a wild hunt for pleasure. 

Our lips met with bruising force, arguing possession rights, ceding only a little to the need for air. I gasped as he pulled my shirt over my head. The air was blessedly cool in his bedroom, contrasting with the heat coming in waves off our bodies. 

He pulled me to my knees and started fumbling with my belt. I distracted him by unbuttoning his shirt //clumsy fingers and when did buttons get so small and complicated // and running my hands down his chest. He shivered when I brushed his nipple and I sensed a tactical advantage. I bent down to take one nipple in my mouth and he groaned. It was a sound I could feel through my teeth on his skin. 

His hands slid my jeans down my hips and he pushed me roughly down onto the bed. He pulled the jeans off quickly, taking my socks along the way. I was naked on the bed and staring darkly up at him. He straddled my hips, and I could feel the rough fabric of his jeans against my cock. His mouth went over my nipple, his tongue pulled at the nipple ring and I was lost. I bucked up against him and his hands found mine and pinned me to the bed. 

I think I moaned. It must have been me; his mouth was full and his tongue was busy. He was nibbling at my other nipple, and then I lifted up my neck, baring it for him. He went for it like a wolf, biting, nibbling, taking. I surrendered for the moment, finding a dark pleasure in my vulnerability. 

His hands released mine so that he could hold my head and take my mouth. I reached for his jeans. Unbutton. Unzip. Pull down. //He's not wearing any underwear.// The thought made me wild. I rolled us over and went to my knees to pull his jeans down. 

I was mesmerized by his cock. Angry-red, stiffly upright, it demanded attention. My mouth went over it, and I let my teeth scrape moistly against its side. He screamed. I continued to tongue and nibble, drawing more primal sounds from my partner. My hands squeezed his balls, my fingers slid down behind to touch the sensitive nerves around his anus. His hands were in my hair and he was thrusting up against my mouth. He came convulsively, screaming my name, spurting against the back of my throat, my face, my hair. 

He pulled me up the bed, flat on my back, and straddled my legs. He licked his seed off my face and his mouth worried at my neck again. One hand collected the bottle of sandalwood-scented oil from the bedside table. He sat up and poured the oil over my cock. It seemed shockingly cold when it hit and splashed, and I shivered. 

He put some more oil on my hands and pulled my arms around his body. I ran my fingers down his back, finding the crease between his buttocks. He moaned into my mouth, and I slid my fingers into his anus. His mouth was in mine and my fingers were in his anus. In and out; our rhythms matched our heartbeat. 

He knelt up and I mourned the loss of his weight on my chest. Slowly, he lowered his body onto my cock. The initial entrance was difficult, and I could see the pain on his face. I couldn't pull away, couldn't stop him from slowly taking my cock into his body. //omigod it's tight// It was the most intense joining I had ever felt. 

I could see when the pain became pleasure by the transformation of his face. I felt unfrozen, and my hips started moving up and down. //slow slow quick it's like a waltz// 

It ended when he leaned forward to take my nipple in his mouth. There was a pinprick of pain when his teeth met my skin, and an electric current when his tongue pulled at the nipple ring again. 

I shuddered and came, bucking against him, pulling his weight down to cover me. I floated in the aftermath of desire, feeling drugged by the intensity of the experience. I hoped that this magic would never be taken for granted by either of us. 

_If you're lost you can look--and you will find me_  
Time after time  
If you fall I will catch you--I'll be waiting  
Time after time 

The fire still burns in my chest, fuelled by every touch, every glance, every taste of the man whose life I share. It will never go out. 

//fin d'histoire// 

* * *

"In fairy tales, a raven is often the soul-bird who conducts the hero into mysterious underground places and out again, or gives information concerning the after-world." - Barbara G. Walker, The Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets 

* * *

Writer's notes:   
What's this about Vancouver being in Washington? There really is a second Vancouver on the west coast -- just on the other side of the river from Portland, Oregon. The town started as Fort George, became Fort Vancouver in 1825, and is now Vancouver, Washington. There's a nice cosmic coincidence at work here, because Simon Fraser founded Fort George, and Diana Gabaldon's novels, which inspired this story, are about the Fraser clan, of which Simon was certainly a significant member. (If you're ever in Vancouver, BC, you can also visit Simon Fraser University -- at which I think a few Sentinel episodes have been filmed.) 

The coarse white blankets which were on James' bed are still available from the Hudson's Bay Company, and yes, they're the same ones that Benton Fraser sometimes has on his bed. Before I started this story, I didn't know that the Hudson's Bay Company had staked out most of Washington State on behalf of the British crown. This meant that many of the early settlers -- mostly fur traders -- were British Loyalists from Ontario and parts of Quebec. It wasn't until 1846 (only two years before Blair's visit) that a treaty ceded everything south of the 49th parallel to America. 

Thus endeth the history lesson. If you enjoyed this story (or if you had problems with any part of it), please e-mail me and let me know. After all, feedback only makes my next story better. 

Credits: If it's not obvious, the story was inspired by Diana Gabaldon's _Outlander_ series. And the song credit is "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper. 


End file.
